Somewhere in my archives, I've already declared my obliviousness to signs. It's not that I don't believe in them, it's just that I wouldn't recognize the sign even if it bonks me in the head.
In the middle of a lazy day, I decided to channel my pent up frustration in arranging my very messed up closet. Like I have always done a million times, I open the door casually. Only this time, without doing anything else, the whole panel got unhinged and the plank's corner hit me squarely on the browbone. The screw got cut in half and the whole thing smacked my head. Next thing I knew, blood was dripping from the gash to my eyes. It was painful, but the pain didn't keep my from laughing my ass off. Inappropriate reactions to klutzy situations seems to come by more often lately.
Later, while getting my hair cut at the salon with Tessa and Mae, I shared my little misadventure, to which Mae said, "It's a sign, Lal. Starts with the letter "k"."
And all I can say was, "Kaya hindi na nga nagreklamo. Natawa na lang ako at tinanggap ko na lang. Bring it on."
Look at me. I am actually willing get bruised and broken to keep this thing going, when in the end, i know it'll never be worth it. I don't even know what it's worth in the first place.
When it comes down to this thing, I seriously don't know what I want.